


An ocean of light blue delphiniums

by Pingviini



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Conflict Resolution, Death, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Reunions, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pingviini/pseuds/Pingviini
Summary: Peter has always had a complicated relationship with his mother even before falling in love with her husband. A relationship painted with so much hardship he doesn't quite know how to face the past he had tried so hard to escape from when Tony calls him to infrom of the death of Mary Parker.In any other circumstances just hearing Tony's voice would've been enough to tuck his mind into this stage of euphoria. The low, slight raspiness and the way his every word was offered ceremoniously on a silver platter no matter their content. Now it had just made him count all the minutes and hours he had used debating himself whether he should call Mary or visit her and ending up doing neither.





	An ocean of light blue delphiniums

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I tagged underage just to be sure even though it's merely referenced in this fic. And just to be clear, this is not supposed to be an accurate depiction of grieving over the loss of a parent (although everyone grieves differently). And I in no way condone relationships between a minor and an adult. Just to get that out of the way.
> 
> The memory Peter keeps going back to aka the kiss happened when he was a teenager/pre-teen and at the time of Mary's death Peter is in his twenties. I was going to put the memories as a whole in cursive but I don't like using it too much so I wrote them in past tense. Hopefully it's not too confusing (although I meant this fic to be kind of a flow between past and present in any case). 
> 
> (Basically I was feeling shitty and wanted to write some angsty shit. This is my first fic dedicated to Starker.) 
> 
> Anyway, I'm not a native speaker so mind the mistakes. Do feel free to correct me!  
> Thanks for reading!

[What I listened to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EienTuDXprw)

_“I shouldn't have_ ,” the man had said with a heavy voice. Eyes dreadful and hands shaking.

He had began apologizing, chanting the word as if it would've been the only one in the dictionary. With it communicating his deepest feelings that Peter had interpreted as spite, disgust and regret.

Peter remembers taking his big hand in his own. Squeezing it in his desperate need to comfort the man who had looked to be on the verge of throwing up.

 _“I could've pushed you away,”_ he had said quietly to which Tony had laughed soullessly. 

“ _We both know you would never.”_

“ _It's okay. I'm old enough to know what I want_ ,” Peter had tried knowing it to be the only moment of weakness Tony would give him. He had known the kiss they had shared to be their beginning and end all in the same.

“ _No, Peter, you’re not_ ,” Tony Stark had said sternly. Tearing away his hands that had lost all colour just like his face. Cold sweat pushing through the thick skin making it clammy.

“ _And the fact that you think that makes me believe you don't have any idea what you're asking of me_.”

“ _Don't I get a say in this_?”

 _“If you're stupid enough to let me use you, you don't deserve to get a say,”_ Tony had lashed out in a hoarse whisper eyes shooting to look at the poster covered wall behind which Mary Parker had been sleeping on the couch. A bad horror movie rolling on the ridiculously big television.

“ _When I started dating your mother, it was so obvious you were in a desperate need of a father figure and whether I like it or not, I caught the ball. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life but so far you aren't one of them and I'd like to keep it that way.”_

Peter remembers opening his mouth before ever beginning to process even half of what the man in front of him had just said. A vomit of words about to burst as he had had no idea which would’ve been the ones to make Tony understand just how good they could’ve been together. It had been only afterwards that Peter had realized there were none, had never been. Just ones coloured sloppily over the lines with delusional lies Peter had force fed himself to the point of getting sick to his stomach.

_“Whatever this is, whatever you think you feel towards me, stays in this room when you leave. Do you understand?”_

“Peter?” Tony calls his name, awakening Peter from his thoughts. Peter flashes an apologetic smile shooing away the hand that was being waved in front of his face.

“Do you understand?”

 _Understand what, Mr Stark?_ is the first counter question to pop into his mind. He tries not to cringe visibly as it keeps the unwanted rekindled memory rolling in front of his eyes. The exact moment their relationship had turned from loving to something so awfully disingenuous Mary had asked Peter multiple times what was going on. To which Peter had always just shrugged and said _nothing_.

“Once you pick the flowers, there is no going back anymore. It’s going to be that bouquet, all in,” Tony repeats himself obviously beginning to get annoyed by Peter’s complete lack of concentration but due to the circumstances doesn’t dare to truly show it. It feels like a slap in the face to think Tony is afraid of doing something as casual as snapping. Showing humane emotions as if Peter would've been too fragile to take them.

“These ones are great, yeah, sure,” he answers waving his hand to the general direction of the different example bouquets splayed in front of them. Tony clears his throat rubbing his bearded chin and inhaling deeply.

“Which ones, Pete?”

Peter steals a glance at the man whose head he could almost hear boiling before turning his undivided attention to the topic at hand.

“I like the one with the lilies, and those blue -- ish flowers,” he says after a moment of hesitation. He doesn’t mean to come across like it would’ve not mattered how his own mother’s funeral ceremony would look like but honestly his mind was jumping in million places at once flurrying his decision making effectively.

“The light blue delphiniums?” the older asks making a face of which’s purpose Peter can’t quite make out.

“If that’s what they’re called then yes,” he shrugs wondering how much unwarranted stress such simple act as picking a plant could cause to so many other people. And should he be worried that he couldn’t find it in himself to care all that much? Honestly, Peter had began worrying that maybe his way of grieving was the wrong one. Even if aunt May had tried to comfort him by saying there was no such thing as a wrong way to grieve when Peter had consulted her about his worries.

“Really?” Tony hums lowly from the back of his throat.

“Really. I think they are pretty,” Peter smiles and Tony smacks his lips together before letting out a strained laughter and dropping his head to massage the back on his neck. More body language Peter effortlessly identifies as signs of aggravation

“Is there something wrong with the delphinums?”

“Delphiniums,” Tony corrects him flashing a quick tense non-smile while pointing at the bouquet, “it’s just that -- I had already ordered over a dozen of these because I thought Mary would’ve loved them but _you_ said they wouldn’t do, since she is allergic. So, I sent them all back.”

“I didn’t say they wouldn’t do. I just told you she was allergic to them,” Peter retorts furrowing his brows reaching down to grab the flowers in order to examine them more closely. “Wait -- You sent the flowers back because our deceased loved one was allergic to them?” Peter asks trying so hard to keep his tone from rising because he feels the situation to be very inappropriate for laughter. He looks at the older man incredulously. “Look, I’ll bring my Claritin in case mom starts sneezing in her coffin.”

“Did you just - wow, Peter,” Tony says trying to sound more offended than he looks, which frankly isn’t all that much. It’s Peter who begins chuckling first. Embracing the long lost bubbly feeling it creates to the bottom his stomach. Tony goes for the subtle clearing of throat to hide the few strained huffs of laughter managing to escape his lungs.

Around Tony Peter doesn’t feel so bad for laughing and trying to move on with his life, which is probably all his mother would’ve hoped of him. And unlike he had feared, spending time with the man had turned out to be soothing rather than a stressful spark igniting the unpleasant memories and long forgotten guilt like he had originally thought.

The day Peter had found out about his mother's death had by now turned into a blurry whirlwind of moments and feelings that in retrospect seemed weirdly disconnected from each other. Tony Stark's name had popped on his phone's screen and for the longest time Peter had just stared at the contact name. Tony's voice had been close to emotionless despite him apologizing for breaking the news over the phone. Peter didn’t say a word for the longest time. Instead he had just hummed in response when Tony had repeated his name over and over again trying to figure out if he had been still on the line. The short answer of _fine_ when asked how he was doing had tasted bitter as he had said it while wiping an endless stream of fat tears he had noticed shedding only after feeling an uncomfortable tingle on his jaw.

Mary Parker, maiden name Fitzgerald, age 49. The cause of death: heart attack.

The little devil on Peter's shoulder kept whispering how ironic it was that ultimately heartache had been the demise of her mother. Just as he had always feared.

According to aunt May, Tony had discovered her body after returning from a business trip abroad. She had been laying on the kitchen floor, pale and unmoving. Her phone clasped in her stiff hand. Apparently he blamed himself for her death but Peter had to take May's word for it because the man hid it masterfully. When they had met at the church Tony had chosen and shook hands, instead of hugging like family members usually did, he had seemed so collected. Talking with such casual tone Peter had to constantly remind himself they were in the process of arranging a funeral.

At the time of the phone call Peter had been in England on behalf of his school. On a program he had begged of his teachers to get a permit to participate in. It had taken the next day, the crowded flight and the cab drive to his apartment in New York before he let the sentence “Mary is dead, Peter” escape past the emotional wall he had built years ago to disclose anything to do with Tony or his mom from his mind. Sure, they might've had a rocky relationship but Peter wasn't heartless. Just like any man he loved his mother albeit he had for years felt it to be more of a reflex similar to breathing or hiccuping rather than something built over the course of his life.

In any other circumstances just hearing Tony's voice would've been enough to tuck his mind into this stage of euphoria. The low, slight raspiness and the way his every word was offered ceremoniously on a silver platter no matter their content. Now it had just made him count all the minutes and hours he had used debating himself whether he should call Mary or visit her and ended up doing neither.

Upon getting back to New York Peter had locked himself into his apartment, laid in bed for the better of a week. Keeping the battery of his phone full just to turn down any calls from Tony, May or any of his friends. For the duration of these days he had spent alternating between staring at his phone and the white ceiling above his bed had turned his world into a small bubble outside which nothing else existed. It had burst when May had used a spare key to enter the apartment the second time the woman had dropped by.

It hadn't taken too much convincing on May's part to get Peter start taking part in the funeral arrangements Tony had already started despite not being able to get Peter to return his calls or messages.

Peter feels ashamed to admit it even to the walls that all the procrastinating had had a lot to do with the anxious feeling that even thinking about facing Tony had brought upon him instead of grief. How would Tony react to seeing him? How would he himself feel?

And he had been rightfully nervous about their reunion because even after all these years he could hear Tony’s words in his head. See his face that had had rejection painted in its every cell.

Watching Tony's back vanish as he had closed the door had been devastating. Not only because he had known the man had meant every word but because every lie he had ever told to keep his conscience clear had become just that. Shattering lies revealing the horrifying reality of his actions. Like wildfire the same nausea that had struck Tony Stark, had also spread through Peter and he had vomited into the trash can under his desk.

He had felt like the most disgusting person on the face of earth and there was nothing he could do or say to make the unwanted feeling disappear.

_I kissed him_

He couldn't help the fact that he had fallen in love with his mother's boyfriend as Tony had unknowingly nursed Peter's search for fatherly love into something more. Up to the point that the boy had acted on these feelings. Albeit even back then, somewhere deep inside, Peter Parker had known that if Tony would've left Mary, her heartache would've been on his conscience. He knew he had broken his own mother's - the woman who had nursed him, fed him, taken care of him - heart and trust in the most disgusting way. And he had known his love to be wasted on Tony Stark.

However, looking into those brown eyes once again and seeing also a hint of the warmest kind of nostalgia he feels a familiar ooze in his head and flutter in his heart. The same kind he had always felt around the man when growing up. To Peter it really seemed that Tony had chosen to forget everything wrong about their relationship in order to cherish all those years he had spent with Mary. Although it basically meant him disregarding Peter's feelings altogether, they reached a quiet consensus of it being a necessary sacrifice. Besides, it wasn't anything unheard of. Not like his feelings would've ever been welcomed by the man even way back then.

The day of the funeral is a little cold. A thin layer of fog hovering above the green grass of the sematary, circling around the tombstones swallowing their lower half. Obscuring the heartfelt goodbyes and names engraved on their surface. The hollow echo of the church bell has an almost eerie tone to it but it still completes the dreamy atmosphere of the cold Saturday morning perfectly.

 _“Take her and cut her out in little stars,_  
_And she will make the face of heaven so fine_ _  
_ That all the world will be in love with night,” Tony mumbles to himself a quote Peter recognizes to be from Romeo and Juliet. He recalls the two of them jokingly reciting lines from several Shakespeare's plays whenever Peter had been moody as a teenager. Back then he had found it irritating but now it only makes the corners of his mouth twitch up.

The flowers on the grave look beautiful. The mist covering their outlines making the blue bouquets look like an ocean on the freshly covered soil. They stay stood in front of her final resting place even as the other guests take their leave.

Peter can't help himself from rereading the engraving over and over again. Even if he has done it so many times none of the words or numbers mean anything anymore. His hand brushes Tony's own by accident. He glances at the man from the corner of his eye before slowly entwining their fingers. Tony squeezes Peter's hand in his own calloused one. The touch is firm and hot and it makes Peter's toes tingle.

“You were right,” the man says,” about the flowers. Her grave looks the prettiest by far.”

“It's not a competition,” Peter huffs out stroking the back of his hand softly.

“Only because none of the others compare to hers,” Tony hums.

The sea of flowers seems to build up a huge tidal wave that hits Peter's consciousness in a form of a realisation: He can see it now. Tony's guilt. Tied up neatly in beautiful bouquets of lilies and delphiniums, which seemed to be the true reason behind the man’s need to feel like he's done all in his might to give her all of him even now that she is gone.

“ _Understand what, Mr. Stark?“_

_“Your thoughts can be judged only by you whereas your actions are for the rest of us to question. I love her, Peter, more than anything.”_

Laying on the bed of a cheap hotel room, naked and cold as the draft from the ajar window cools the pleasantly warm air in the room. His back propped lazily against the cream coloured wall. Looking at Tony's back, the hunched shoulders moving in rhythm with the man's sobs -- he again feels like that rejected kid lying on Star Wars sheets the smell of vomit stuck in his nostrils. Completely lost and alone. Scared of the world not accepting him. The man crying on the edge of the unmade bed making Peter finally feel like the monster he was always afraid he'd turn out to be. 

The villain of their stories.

“I don't think you're fucked up,” Peter says soothingly. Not that Tony had said anything to implicate he would’ve thought that of himself. In fact, he hadn't said a word after slamming Peter's back against the wall of that room and kissing him almost angrily an hour ago.

Peter just airs the thought he so desperately would've wanted anyone to tell him.

“You should leave,” Tony says and Peter hears him swallowing down the name he was going to add to the end of his sentence. Most likely feeling it to hammer another nail to the coffin he had began building himself by agreeing to go grab a beer with Peter after the funeral. Peter knows that had anyone asked Tony if he had known they would end up in bed together the man would've said no.

Luckily no one had since it would’ve been just adding one word to the endless list of lies Tony Stark had told himself and others about his feelings towards the son of his late wife. A slippery slope of untrue words so convincingly spoken even the liar himself had been fooled by them and eventually led into this moment. A moment that seemed to feel as if it had been building for a decade.

“Don't push me away,” Peter pleads breathlessly. He is too afraid to move and the pounding of his heart makes his chest ache. “Please. ”

“I don't know why you always expect me to be the strong one. Even though I kissed you,” Tony says still refusing to turn around.

“Yeah, but that was - what? Ten years ago? Besides I was the one who came onto you,” Peter tells him trying so hard to brush the topic aside as something so insignificant to begin with it wouldn't even be worth discussing.

“You say it like it would make a difference, Pete. Even back then I knew you would gladly take anything I'd be willing to give you and I loved it. I still do and to be honest that is just one of the many things I hate about myself,” the man speaks groggily pausing to take in a shaky breath,” mostly in the context that _I_ seem to be the only thing wrong with you.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut not willing to watch as Tony, the love of his life, breaks into pieces in front of him. The first time they had kissed, Tony Stark had been full of determination to be better.

Excluding the brief stumble of emotion that Peter had tried and failed to use against him.

This time the man stays splayed out like an open book and by the look of him almost out of reasons to pretend to be anything else than what he actually was: A broken man in mourning over both the loss of his wife and the last shred of dignity with which he had lulled himself to sleep for so many years.

“You can't own my sins,” the younger says daring to open his eyes as he feels the bed shift and hears the sheets shuffle. Tony isn't crying anymore but his lined face looks suddenly so much older than it did the day before.

“I would if you'd just let me,” he says seemingly in all earnest. Brown eyes Peter had always adored degraded into soulless mirrors reflecting his own insecurities back at him. The words arose so many feelings in him: Sadness that Tony had given up on himself, anger for his feelings not seen as real even now, bitterness for the realization he'd never get to be with him and finally gratitude. 

“You'd do that for me?“ Peter asks letting his head fall down in defeat. Who was he to deny a broken man the only redemption he yearned for?

“I'd do anything for you,” Tony replies even though they both know it to be an unnecessary lie.

“Anything?” Peter hums letting his torso fall back on the silky sheets.

“Anything,” the man repeats.

“Tell me that you love me,” Peter says after a moment of silence and closes his eyes. Ready to fall away from the reality that was disappointing to say the least.

“I can't. Not like that,” Tony speaks low from the back of his throat.

“Then lie to me, Tony Stark,” the younger man huffs lightly and meets Tony's stare.

“Peter-”

“You said _anything_ ,” Peter interrupts and for the second time ever, according to Peter's own memory, Tony leaves the rest of his thoughts unspoken. His eyes study the younger man’s face thoroughly before agreeing to meet the demanding gaze pouring through him.

“I love you, Peter Parker,” he says not shying away from the promise Peter knows was only meant as a test to see if he would finally take the advice given to him in a hushed tone and fierce eyes while Mary had been asleep in the next room. Leave whatever he felt for Tony behind and let him carry the weight of their actions.

So, instead of taking a swim, Peter just tests the waters and unlike the last time, he knows precisely what he has asked of the man. He had always found _I love you_ to be the most bittersweet way to say goodbye. There was something oddly endearing about it. The same reminiscent warmth one would feel when looking at old home videos of happier times.

“You're a good liar, you know that? I almost believed you,” Peter chuckles and Tony turns his back to him once again. Running his big hand through his messy hair.

“Yeah, me too, Pete. Me too.”


End file.
